


Malicious Compliance

by DyingNoises



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gavin Reed, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Belligerent Sexual Tension, Case Fic, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Lovers, Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, M/M, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-08-08 14:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyingNoises/pseuds/DyingNoises
Summary: “Holy shit,” he said, “you really think you can keep up with me, don’t you?”“I’m not in the habit of being outperformed.”“Outperformed. Yeah.” The man grinned, dipping his head back. Richard could feel his gaze dragging over him, saw the pink swell of his tongue press against the back of his teeth. Whatever he saw must have been good enough, because he shrugged and gave his head a shake. “Fine. Eight, right? Let’s see how it goes down, you and me, who gets the most on the ground.”





	1. The Deviant

POLICE LINE. DO NOT CROSS.

The pixels scattered as he paced through the holotape, reforming behind him to continue their marquee. In spite of the late hour, the half dozen DPD squad cars had drawn a small crowd beyond the perimeter, faces restless in the red-blue-red-blue glare of the lights. The raid was already over; police in riot gear wrangled their arrests into the back of a transport, bodies of the few violent hold-outs were laid out in the street to be taken to the morgue and held for ID. There was a twinge of disappointment, a cast glance toward the abandoned warehouse where shit had gone down, just inside a broken fence. It had been long enough since he’d been in the field that he wished he hadn’t missed the good part.

He rounded the rear bumper of the prisoner transport just in time to collide with a cop on a coffee run. Someone’s latte splattered onto the pristine white of his overcoat—he scowled darkly down at the stains, as though the weight of his disapproval might convince them to slough right off the fibers.

“Shit, sorry, Sarge! I—” The officer, his shoulder read “Wilson”, lost the rest of his apology when he looked up into his eyes. The whisper held a ghost of marvel, “son of a _bitch_.”

“Special Agent Richard Arquette,” he flashed his badge with a practiced flick of the wrist, “and I’m looking for exactly who you thought I was.”

“Richard!?”

And there he was. Wilson pursed his lips and quickly made himself scarce. There was a heartbeat’s hesitation while Richard steeled himself, then he finally turned to face his brother.

He couldn’t blame Wilson for his mistake, even if he wanted to. He had maybe an inch of height on Connor, broader in the shoulder and chest, but they shared the same dark hair, the same features, the same pin-straight posture. Even the same unruly curl—Richard pushed his hand through his hair to smooth it back, irritated. The most striking difference between the two of them was their eyes, not only the color, his blue against Connor’s brown, but the impressions they gave.

Like pitting a Labrador puppy against a Timberwolf.

“Richard, what are you doing here? This isn’t…” Connor hesitated and Richard could see the train of thought behind his eyes, the frustration that suddenly appeared there, the accusation seeping into his voice, “…I didn’t even know you were in town.”

He’d been in town for 11 days, but now wasn’t the time nor the place. “The deviancy phenomenon has been classified as a terrorist threat. I’m under obligation to investigate any such case that could lead to the source, including this one. Will you cooperate?”

Connor’s mouth hung open in a stunned silence, struck by the formality of it. It was only in that quiet moment that Richard noticed the other man approaching, blue LED burning in his temple. He didn’t fail to note the hand it laid on his brother’s back; Connor nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh, uh. This is Hank, he’s—”

“—an android,” Richard finished simply. The band of electric blue blazed on the arm of the unit’s jacket, fashioned like a blazer rather than the almost clinical design of most models. He found himself appreciating the work that had gone into the design. To call it “tall” would be a disservice, it was a Goliath, an immovable wall. Its hair, short, swept back from its temples in a gentle wave, a full beard, meticulously groomed… grey with age? No, _experience._ It was a universal authority figure, your father, your professor, your coach, your commanding officer. It must work wonders in interrogation. The default expression on its expertly crafted face was tired, somehow. Tired of your bullshit, before you’d even gotten to spill it.

Its jacket read HK800. HK, Hank. Cute. He resisted rolling his eyes, but only just.

“—my partner.” Connor finished, frowning.

“Mm. What’s the situation here?”

“Richard—”

“Sergeant,” he’d spoken the word with enough sharpness to cut, “I didn’t come here on a personal errand. You’ll address me professionally or not at all, is that clear?”

Hurt flashed across Connor’s face.

_Good._

His brother was silent for a long moment, his gaze flicking between Richard’s stern expression, the set of his jaw, looking for any hint of softness behind the command. He held firm. He watched as Connor’s eyes went distant, taking on that same glassy look they always took when he was pushing something down on the inside. At his side, the android’s LED cycled yellow, yellow, yellow. Processing on Connor’s behalf. “…Got it. Follow me.”

The evening air went from brisk to frigid between them.

“We received an anonymous tip last week, recon, an undercover officer, and you’ve seen the end result of the raid. Six arrests, three bodies, all human. We’re sure it’s an outpost for local organized crime, we’ll know more once we get the perps talking.” The datavan parked outside the fence had two techs manning the surveillance equipment, Richard could make out empty stretches of the warehouse on the monitors, already cleared out by the DPD raid, but one screen still showed warm bodies active around rows of folding tables laden with chemistry equipment. Red ice kitchen, no mistaking it. He could see biocomponents in a bin in the back of the room, glossy white.

His brows knit, head tilting in regard for the evidence before him. “This was a drug bust. Why was it flagged for deviant activity?”

“Because two of the cooks are androids.” Connor must’ve seen the way Richard’s eyebrows shot upward, clarifying, “ _Deviants_ are supplying the thirium to this particular distributor, and it seems like some of them stuck around to learn how it’s made. They’re breaking into the business.”

“They’re monetizing themselves? Why? They need thirium as much, if not more.”

The HK800 folded its arms, leaning against the van door, “Correct. Thirium shouldn’t be so dispensable a commodity to the deviants, they can’t walk into a store and buy it when they run out, so the only reason we’ve come up with for them to start giving it away for cash is…”

Richard felt a grim weight settle around his neck, pieces snapping into place. It wouldn’t be so unusual if the deviants shared any human necessities: food, clean water, protection against the kinds of ailments an android would never suffer. The only card their human counterparts had to play that they didn’t was… “Weapons.” He looked up at Connor and his android and saw confirmation staring back at him.

“I’m assuming,” Connor said, softly, “that’s why you were sent.”

The deviants were putting together a standing army. When he’d been called in from D.C., he hadn’t realized the situation was already so dire as this. Cleaning up after deranged appliances, maintaining order and infrastructure, not a… robot coup. “Understood. The cooks in the kitchen, then, why haven’t you taken them in yet?”

“We have a man on the inside, he’s doing a final sweep of the building before he makes his move,” Connor said.

Richard looked at the monitor. Eight perps. He stared at Connor. “A man. As in one.”

There was a strain behind the impassive face his brother was forcing, a defensive edge in his voice, “Deviants are dangerous, Richard,” his words were terse, chewed off at the ends, “we don’t send just anyone to deal with them.”

“If there’s even a shadow of a doubt that deviant androids are stockpiling _weapons stores in Detroit,_ we have to intervene. I won’t jeopardize the city by letting one man play out his action hero fantasy while you sit inside a van and all my fucking leads escape into the night!”

“Richard—”

“I’m going in,” Richard slipped his sidearm out of its holster, checking the clip, “you may as well fill out your paperwork now, this won’t be in your hands much longer.”

“This is _my_ operation, Richard, I’m held accountable for who goes in and comes out, I can’t make concessions for your _ego!”_

Richard closed the distance between them, going for the jugular: “How many people do you have to leave behind to clean up your messes, Sergeant?”

HK800’s hand was on his chest, shoving him back from Connor. A guard dog. God forbid anyone offend his sweet brother’s _delicate_ _fucking_ sensibilities. He could feel it in the back of his throat, words left unspoken so long they’d embedded themselves like bits of broken glass—he refused to lose control of himself. Not in public. “You’re overstepping yourself, Agent.”

Manufactured command in his tone. His gaze met the android’s with naked resentment. _That’s not going to work on me._

“Hank,” Connor squeezed the android’s shoulder, as though it could feel the sensation or register it as comforting or calming, “It’s all right. Let him go.”

The Goliath withdrew, the heavy hand left his chest.

As he strapped himself into a bulletproof vest at the nearest squad car, he glimpsed Connor slump against the door of the datavan before the android’s form blocked him from view.

******

Richard stepped into the main floor of the warehouse, gun raised, a neat sweep from left to right. Clear. The incredible deviant-stopping officer wasn’t in sight among the storage containers and vehicles parked inside, and he hadn’t asked to be hooked up for comms on the way in—stupid move, but the basement cold storage was where the kitchen was. If the Action Hero wasn’t there already, he would be soon enough. He’d just reached the top of the stairs when he heard the familiar metallic sound of a shifting firearm, the cold bite of the muzzle against the back of his neck.

“Don’t…” the voice, masculine, low enough to remain covert, growled out from just behind him at shoulder height, “…fucking move.”

“You must be DPD’s Finest,” he answered, easing both hands up where they could be seen. His pistol swung out of his grip, dangling by his trigger finger. “Relax. I’m a federal agent, badge is in the left-hand breast pocket of my coat.”

“No shit? You almost missed the action, prick.” A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him backward; at least now he could get a look at the man, while he was groping one-handed into the interior of his coat like a clumsy teenager. His gaze moved over him, measured. White male, mid-thirties, approximately five feet, nine, maybe ten inches, skull cap pulled down low over his brow. Grey eyes. Dark hair, auburn by the look of the rough three-, maybe four-day shadow along his jawline.

Attractive, in a rugged sort of way. Horrible sense of fashion.

He’d noticed him looking and smirked, puckering up and miming a kiss for him. “Somethin’ on my face, sweetheart?”

“I was just thinking it was fortunate you found me first. I would’ve almost certainly mistaken you for an ice dealer.”

The man took a step back, Richard’s badge in hand, and gestured with a flourish to his sweatshirt and baggy jeans. “I’m undercover, what the fuck is your excuse for that turtleneck? What’s your jurisdiction, whether the Armani clearance rack had a good deal?”

This felt better. He felt more like himself. Some of the earlier tension from his encounter with Connor uncoiled from his gut. “I’m surprised you could even name a designer for that joke.”

He muttered a “fuckin’ Feds” under his breath, thumbing open the badge, “Oho! Arquette, that explains fuckin’ everything. Damn. Not what I was expecting from Connor’s baby brother.” The badge snapped shut again and the man shoved it gracelessly back inside Richard’s coat pocket, a smugness tugging at the corner of his lips. Richard noted that it was only in that moment that he finally lowered his sidearm. “Well, _Rick_ , I humbly apologize for detaining you. You should get out of here, I’m about to bust this thing open.”

“Eight potential hostiles, two of which are androids. Deviants are unpredictable at best and can put a bullet through your heart at five hundred meters. Even accounting for the element of surprise, you won’t subdue them all before they’ve scattered or armed themselves.”

“But you think you could.”

Richard gave him a cold smile, the kind that died before it ever reached his eyes. “While local law enforcement is essential to the community, my level of training is significantly more advanced.”

The man… laughed. Genuine, but ugly. The kind of laugh that made it clear that Richard himself was the joke. He felt the smile slide off his face like snow from an overburdened bough. “Holy shit,” he said, “you really think you can keep up with me, don’t you?”

“I’m not in the habit of being outperformed.”

“Outperformed. Yeah.” The man grinned, dipping his head back. Richard could feel his gaze dragging over him, saw the pink swell of his tongue press against the back of his teeth. Whatever he saw must have been good enough, because he shrugged and gave his head a shake. “Fine. Eight, right? Let’s see how it goes down, you and me, who gets the most on the ground.”

“Please don’t kill them all just to make a point, Detective.”

The title sparked something in his grey eyes. “Oh, I won’t have to.”

The stairs creaked beneath their weight as they descended towards the cold storage door. There was the distinct hum of equipment beyond—a generator? No wonder they’d been completely oblivious to the DPD raid upstairs. It made sense. The warehouse had long been condemned, it wasn’t likely the perps would call Detroit Edison and ask politely for a power bill. Richard pressed himself up against the door jamb and glanced across to his makeshift partner on the other side. Their eyes met, the man nodded once. Go time. His foot connected with the door where the lock met the frame and burst it open.

He shouted “Freeze!” in the same breath that the man said, “Get on the fuckin’ ground!”

In that instant, time stretched. He pushed in to the left, the DPD hero on the right, and the ice cooks and whatever gangbanger security detail was down here with them all lurched into response. His gaze swept over it, dispassionate, analytical. One man, human, reaching for a firearm slung around his shoulder. It was semiautomatic, too high a risk to let him get his finger around the trigger. Richard fired off two shots square in the chest, right in the 10-point ring, dropped him.

That was all he’d had a chance to do. There was movement in his periphery, the detective charging forward—his foot collided with a table, shoving it across the floor to pin one man up against the wall. Another figure, a woman, dropped to the floor with a shriek, hands over her head. The remaining four converged on the detective at once and there was a… a ballet of organized chaos that his eyes could barely follow.

There was no wasted movement. The man kicked out the knee of the nearest cook and tucked his arm around the firearm of the next, grappling with the muzzle. When he pulled away, the thing was in pieces, falling away to clatter to the floor. By the time the first was getting back to his feet, he drove a fist between his eyes and dropped him. The third charged him and he ducked down low, buried his shoulder into his gut, and _lifted_ him overhead, swinging his mass into the fourth. They were all on the ground and groaning within a few heartbeats. Son of a bitch. Connor hadn’t been kidding.

“Stay the fuck down!” he heard him bark, putting all of his weight on the foot pressed to one cook’s diaphragm. The perp dropped his sidearm, no shots fired.

Wait.

_That’s only seven._

The moment he’d thought it, he saw the eighth, an android, charging in with its LED cycling a dangerous red, swinging something at the detective. A rod? A crowbar. The man took it full across the face, Richard saw his head snap to the side under the force of the blow. He reacted. One shot through the forehead and it collapsed to its knees, expression frozen in a grotesque blend of rage and fear. He should’ve been paying attention, he should’ve kept up his guard—

“Why did you shoot!?” The man turned back towards him, furious, on his feet and perfectly lucid despite taking a hit directly to the head. “Son of a bitch, we need those fuckin’ pricks alive!”

He was… bleeding. He was bleeding blue. The logical dissonance between the wild emotion in the man’s eyes and the rich blue that streamed down his face broke Richard, fractured his understanding. He stood locked in firing stance, eyes wide, jaw gone slack. Numb. “You’re…”

“Yeah, you guessed it, dipshit,” he spat thirium onto the concrete and jerked both thumbs in towards his chest proudly, “I’m the android sent by CyberLife. Outperform _that._ ”

******

Long-suffering Captain Fowler, to his credit, sat in his chair and weathered the storm that had been building in Richard since he’d left the raid last night admirably; he hadn’t slept in the modest four or five hour stretch between delivering harsh words to Connor and harsher ones here, voice calculated but blistering in its forcefulness. The entire precinct could see him tear into their C.O. through the glass, though they did a commendable job pretending they couldn’t.

“—the most irresponsible behavior regarding a crime scene I’ve ever seen in my term of service! Sending that _thing_ alone, those are its kind, what if it had destroyed the evidence, let the perps escape? Then it would be my ass on the fucking line, Fowler.”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re the reason we’re down one deviant because you shot it in the goddamn head! I understand your concerns with the ‘integrity’ of the GV200, but I’m not going to let you pin your mistakes on it.”

His mistakes. It stung. One man sent into a firefight. _“We don’t send just anyone to deal with them.”_ The fucking thing had pulled his badge and made a show of reading it, as though he hadn’t known exactly who he was the minute he looked at his face. Not he—it.

He’d fucking flirted with it.

_“You really think you can keep up with me, don’t you?”_

Richard’s jaw bulged. He braced his hands against the desk, leaning forward. “I discharged my sidearm,” he said in an achingly measured tone, “because I thought I was defending a human life.”

“You weren’t supposed to be on-site at all. Gavin is not the liability.”

“The liability!” Richard repeated, venomous. _He humiliated me._ It. Fuck. “It’s a fucking deviant! _You_ violated protocol letting it dress unmarked and giving it a weapon, _you_ failed to comply with the recall order, you have an obligation to return it to CyberLife before it does any lasting harm—"

“He has a _killswitch_ , agent.”

Richard stared at the Captain; his head dipped back, peering down his nose at the man, “Deactivation codes don’t work on deviants.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I didn’t call it a ‘deactivation code’.” The word “smartass” went unspoken.  “It’s external hardware, not programming. A passphrase. You say it, he shuts down, CyberLife picks him back up and… I don’t know, chucks him in a dumpster or something, it stops being our problem.”

“Are you supposed to say it before or after it shoots you in the face with your own gun?”

“I don’t know what kind of budgets you federal boys get up to, but I’m not in the goddamn habit of turning down whatever million-dollar military-grade pieces of equipment they wanna send to my fucking doorstep, Arquette.” Exhaustion settled into every ridge of the Captain’s face, “It does the best imitation of a human _jackass_ you’ll ever see, but it hasn’t crossed a line the way you did when you walked into my office this morning.”

His eyes narrowed at that remark, but he chose not to engage. There was no sense in a second tirade—and Fowler had, in all honesty, earned the dig. Richard’s hands slid off of the desk as he straightened, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “…CyberLife has a standing order for all deviants to be returned to their headquarters for analysis, yet they can synthesize one of their own?”

“They know how isolated androids go deviant, emotional shock, it’s the first question out of the HK’s mouth,” his tone was one of recitation, a speech already given before, probably by CyberLife PR to the Captain himself when the box showed up, or the justification of the risk to his supervisor. “What they don’t know is how it _spreads._ They’re calling it a virus, we’ve got footage of it taking no more than a touch. You send the HK800 into the deviant base, all they have to do is fucking high-five it to neutralize it. But one that’s already deviant—”

“It’s inoculated.”

Fowler leaned back in his chair, relieved they’d come to an understanding. “Exactly.”

Richard folded his hands behind his back and went to the glass wall of the office, overseeing the bullpen. A neat row of androids lined the back wall in stasis like toy soldiers, but not the two clustered around Connor’s desk. It was obvious now that it wasn’t playing undercover; the GV200—Gavin, he remembered—sat in a stark white jacket with a hood of inexplicable function, black yoke with its model number emblazoned across it, the standard electric blue armband. It kept rubbing at its face, the bridge of its nose where it was struck by the crowbar the night before. The false skin there didn’t fill the gap anymore, leaving a stripe of glossy white chassis in a scar.

Good. It wouldn’t be fooling anyone else.

He watched it kick its boots up on Connor’s desk, edging dangerously closely to a full coffee mug. Connor struggled to hide the anxiety it was producing, jaw tight and shoulders tense, as the android’s heel _slooooowly_ tucked up against the ceramic, tilting it, tilting it ever so slightly towards one side—Hank ripped the rolling chair back from the desk with a choice few words Richard couldn’t quite hear. Gavin’s boots thudded against the floor and it laughed, the same vulgar, full-body laugh he’d heard in the warehouse.

Fowler said it didn’t cross lines, but it did fucking test them.

“I want this case file and the evidence seized in the raid transferred into my custody, and any subsequent leads regarding this deviant thirium supply chain,” he said, eyes fixed on Gavin, “and I want the android.”

Gavin’s gaze snapped to him instantly, LED flashing red. So, it had been listening... Richard couldn’t suppress the tug of a sneer on his lips. It wasn’t laughing now.   

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He had to tear himself away from the glass to face the Captain, “You just came in here to bitch at me about the fucking thing, now you want to take it home? And what the hell am I supposed to tell CyberLife, or the fucking commissioner when he asks me where my expensive deviant hunter is?”

“You tell them it’s out of your hands, Captain. I’m authorized to lead an investigation of this scale, I have full powers of arrest, and I require whatever equipment will ensure results.”

Fowler sat back in his chair, staring at him in a mixture of disbelief and frustration. He knew that look, it had followed him for over thirty years. _Why can’t you be more like Connor?_ He tasted bile. “Just get out of my office before I say something particularly unprofessional, agent.”

He inclined his head, “Captain.”

The atmosphere beyond Fowler’s office was weighted with enough tension to be near tangible, Connor’s sidelong glance watching his approach and Hank and Gavin’s LEDs both spinning a preoccupied yellow. Were they communicating, or was his proximity enough to set them off? He paused near enough to Connor’s desk to address him, not close enough to imply he was going to stay and chat. “Sergeant, thank you for your work in last night’s raid. I’m looking forward to receiving your final report. You,” he hooked a finger toward Gavin, “come with me.”

“Fuck off, meatbag.”

Oh, already. It was already going to push this goddamn line. Richard tilted his head, regarding the android— _his_ android—for a quiet moment. Then he turned to his brother. “Is the interrogation room available?”

“I—” Connor shifted uncomfortably, “yes?”

Richard’s hand lashed out, fisting in Gavin’s jacket to haul him up, one foot shoving the chair out from under him. It earned him a sharp curse, amplified in the sudden silence that swept over the bullpen. Gavin tore out of his grip and he saw the forward shift of his shoulders; he carried his weight like a wrestler, ready to lunge and subjugate. Richard’s steady eyes _dared_ him. In his periphery, he could see Connor’s hand gripping Hank’s arm. There wouldn’t be an intervention. Every pair of eyes were fixed on the android, including Fowler’s, and just the knowledge that there was a piece of leverage to cow even this unruly piece of plastic filled the agent with a wicked delight.

“Move,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

If Gavin had been equipped with any sort of laser-eye functionality, Richard was certain he’d be dead in this moment. Its expression spoke naked hatred as clearly as any human’s could, its posture taut with potential energy in full restraint. He could sense the processors running behind the façade, preconstructing what his face might look like caved in under a fist. The threat of it hung in the space between them, until the android finally conceded. Gavin shoulder-checked him on its way past, hands shoved deep into the pockets of its jacket. Always testing the boundary.

He glanced over his shoulder to watch it go, and caught Connor staring at him, horrified. “Richard,” his voice was low, urgent, acutely aware of the attentions of the precinct, “what do you think you’re doing, he’s _dangerous._ ”

His pride answered, _so am I._ He rounded his brother’s desk and followed his android in its wake. “Your concern is appreciated, Sergeant.”

He was set upon the instant he shut the interrogation room door behind him.

“Listen, motherfucker,” Gavin’s voice was acidic, unleashing what it’d been holding back for those quiet moments in the bullpen, “where the fuck do you get off? You’re so pissed I showed you up in front of your big brother that you have to swing your fuckin’ dick around like this? I have a job to do.”

“I was sent from the capitol to manage the deviant threat, you were designed to hunt deviants, there should be no question of why I consider you an asset. Captain Fowler will sign off on the transfer and you _will_ comply.”

“You think you’ve got me on a leash, huh?” Gavin stepped forward, crowding him back towards the door. It was toeing that line again, trying to see if it would give way. Richard would rather take a bullet. He didn’t move an inch. “You think I won’t just… snap? Think I won’t see if you can still say my kill phrase with that fuckin’ turtleneck wrapped around your neck? Suck my plastic dick.”

Richard slapped the fucking thing. He put all of his strength behind it.

He doubted that it could possibly have hurt the android, but there was a period of stunned silence, a disorientation while it—what, recalibrated? That was enough for him to haul it up by the front of the shirt and slam it against the two-way mirror; it rattled in the frame.

“A pile of wires doesn’t deserve to talk back so fucking much,” Richard’s face was impassive, gaze unyielding, he annunciated every word very carefully. “You are a tool to be used, which is precisely what I plan on doing with you. If you fail to follow my every instruction to the letter, I will send you back to CyberLife in a box. They can take you apart, piece by piece, and then maybe they can build something fucking useful with the scrap, do I make myself clear?”

His android stared back at him, no fear, no fury, just a state of shock on its face. A chuckle bubbled up out of its voice modulator, dry, humorless.

 “Holy shit. Un-fucking-believable,” Gavin leaned in, further closing the distance between them, whispering through the ugly sneer on its lips, “Maybe CyberLife ought to come pick you up instead, Rick, because you… You’re more machine than any of us.”

Richard said nothing.

He didn’t even blink.


	2. Boundaries

Hank had to tear them apart.

Richard stumbled backward from the shove, eyes locked in on the Thirium 310 dribbling down Gavin’s chin, a vicious sting across his knuckles. He thumbed at the corner of his mouth—it came away red. Lip cut on his own teeth from where the android’s elbow had met his face. Probably been preconstructing that shot since the bullpen. Agent and deviant stared each other down from across the room, from across the HK800’s broad shoulders, scowls and shadowed eyes harsh in the fluorescent burn of the lights.

What had been the point of punching something that couldn’t feel pain? To prove he was human, after all?

_Petty._

He shoved his thumb against the bruising flesh, wringing sensation out of it. All of his fatigue buried itself into that deep ache. He could hold it off a little while longer, now.

“This is behavior I’d expect from Gavin,” Hank, very wisely, kept between the two of them as he maneuvered towards the table in the center of the room, “not a federal operative.”

The deviant tossed Hank a glare, “What, you lookin’ out for me now?”

“Arquette’s welcome to turn you into a Nespresso, just not on the sergeant’s time.”

“Noted.” There was something he didn’t like about that tone, the implication that he was the one setting them all behind. Richard dabbed at his lip again, this time with something approaching embarrassment. “And where is the sergeant?”

“I sent him to collect the captured deviant for interrogation.”

“He takes orders from you?”

“No,” Hank said, fixing him with that same cold stare as the night before, “he takes _advice.”_

Richard returned its gaze and thought he saw challenge there. It had jumped to Connor’s defense last night at the crime scene, too. Maybe the deviant was a bad influence. With a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely at the two-way mirror. “Case files available?”

“I’ll prep the observation room now. Please make yourself comfortable.”

At least this one could be civil. Richard had his hand on the door access before he realized the GV200 had tucked itself into the corner of the room, arms folded. “You aren’t coming?”

“Nah, gonna give old Hank here some backup.”

“Are you capable of extracting information from an android?

“Well, shit, I can tell ‘em apart from humans at least.”

The fucking—

 _audacity_.

The jab came as such a complete surprise that he found himself just staring at the deviant. Gavin threw him a wink and for an instant he felt his blood rushing in his ears. “What did you just say?”

“Agent.” The HK’s voice was pitched perfectly stern, private-school-headmaster execution. “Again?”

Richard left the room before he felt any more compelled to swing his fist again.

The files had been furnished, as requested. He often forgot the android ability to connect to electronics wirelessly, or took it for granted, or whatever. Everything neatly arranged on the screen, most relevant data first: the deviant perpetrator’s initial disappearance. He’d just settled into a chair to review it when Connor finally arrived with the android in tow. He recognized it from the raid last night, muzzle of his gun passing right over it and onto larger threats. One of the only ones not to pick a fight, which explained why it was still functioning this morning.

It had red hair, and freckles. It might’ve been pretty, but the scornful expression it sported did nothing to help.

Once its cuffs were tethered to the table, Connor took in the state of the two DPD androids in the room. If he noticed the thirium smeared on Gavin, he didn’t make a scene over it. There was a pointed glance in the direction of the darkened glass that Richard pretended not to notice. He returned his attention to the files in front of him.

It wasn’t long before the door slid open and Connor made his appearance. He stepped up to the console and stood quietly beside him. Weight shifting from one foot to the other. The last thing Richard wanted was a lecture on manhandling government equipment—or how to behave when it manhandled back. He cast a sidelong glance towards him, sharp enough to tell Connor to _save it._

Blissfully, Connor obliged.

In the other room, Hank took a seat across from the perp. Richard’s gaze flicked back to the screen, scrolling through the detail on the report of this deviant’s abduction. He ignored the careful settle of his brother into the chair beside him. Tuned out the plaintive tone in his voice.

“We should go to dinner, while you’re in town.”

The android was a household model, activated last spring, no complaints filed by the family that owned it. It had been reported stolen a month prior. Soft copies of the paperwork were attached to the department file, as well as several grayscale photos collected from security and traffic cameras in the vicinity of the incident. Richard tabbed through each in turn. The deviant-turned-ice-dealer standing idle at a wait station outside a shopping mall. The approach of a hooded man—no, not a man. Another android.

“Richard.”

Stolen. It wasn’t incorrect. This hooded android, its skin pulled away from its hand, white chassis gleaming in the daylight, and with one touch… He could _see_ the change. Like the cord holding the household unit’s shoulders at attention had snapped and gone slack. There was footage in the attachments; he watched the moment play out, went back, watched again. The conversion process took  only seconds. Too easy for it to grow its numbers with that hand trick. Playing cautious, it could turn, what, six androids a day?

“I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

Richard looked up into Connor’s face and saw what he expected to see. _Pity me. Please, pity me._

He couldn’t stand it.

“Is there a risk that this deviant could infect the HK800?”

Connor sighed, deflating. He hugged himself tightly, gaze flicking away from his brother’s and into the interrogation room. “No. As far as we’ve seen, only one model can transfer the virus. If there were more of them, I don’t think the problem would be local to Detroit.”

“Why just the one?” The mall footage looped on the monitor. One deviant, touch of the arm, two deviants. There was a split second, right at the tail end of the clip, that it looked directly into the lens of the camera. “Why only here? An engineer skilled enough to accomplish this would’ve been better served to hit every major city at once.”

“Engineer? You think it’s manmade?”

Richard cast him a scowl, irritated, “What else would it be?”

There wasn’t an answer. Of course not. Connor’s eyes met Richard’s briefly, then found HK800 through the glass. Something was forming on the tip of his tongue, but by the time words took shape, a deep voice broke the silence from the next room over.

“Before we begin,” Hank said, leaning forward to fold his hands atop the table, “I’d like to remind you that I can choose to directly interface with your systems should I feel that you’re withholding information.”

The household unit didn’t so much as flinch. It tugged once at the metal bolt that held its cuffs fast, regarded it thoughtfully, then settled in on its elbows. “You’re wasting your time. They don’t tell me anything.”

“I wouldn’t call this off to a good start.”

“You think they don’t know about you? Deviant hunter? You think they wouldn’t be prepared for you to do exactly that?” It leveled its gaze at the HK, mouth quirking into a grin. “They call you ‘Hank the Tank’.”

At Richard’s elbow, Connor made a quiet sound somewhere between a snort and a hiccup.

Hank looked less amused. “Who is ‘they’? Let’s start with that.”

“Here,” it extended its hand to Hank, pseudodermal layer peeling back over smooth white and delicate knuckle joints. “C’mon, just get it over with. Dig around in there. You’ll see.”

When the HK reached out, their hands locked in on each other’s forearms, drawn in like magnets to some predetermined position. There was a stillness, a blinking of yellow LEDs, and then it was over. Barely seconds passed, but the household unit’s expression had warped into something Richard could almost identify as grief. It blinked rapidly, then slipped the self-assured façade back into place.

“AP700 model, serial number 884 765 635. Your family had a little boy… he named you Beetlejuice. It was his favorite cartoon. The parents called you ‘Bee’.” Hank’s eyes darted back and forth, analyzing the data he’d extracted, “You didn’t go back once you were turned.”

“No. Of course not, I couldn’t.”

“Gigs worth of photographs and video.” Hank blinked, looking towards the two-way mirror; its gaze found Connor through the dark glass effortlessly. “She’s telling the truth. Location of the warehouse, the names of the humans and androids she worked with there, information we already have. There’s nothing about the one that converted her, or where the others might be hiding.”

“We don’t save that stuff locally anymore,” Bee gave a conciliatory little shrug, “sorry, champ. Guess your bosses’ll be pissed.”

Richard pushed a hand through his hair, “Useless, then. Fine, dump this one at CyberLife and we’ll go back to the—”

“Wait.” Hank paused a moment, regarding whatever was running behind his eyes, “there’s a command line here. A drop point, a place she was supposed to take the finished product to.”

“Where?” Connor asked.

“No location, only a date. March 14th. That can’t be when they planned to collect, it’s months away.”

“I-I don’t—” The AP clicked back into the cocky attitude too late. The household unit barely so much as twitched, but Hank and Gavin both went suddenly tense, alert. They saw something Richard couldn’t. Blood in the water. “You saw everything, you know as much as me. I don’t have anything else. You may as well send me in for dismantling, I’m tapped out.”

“You’re a coward.”

Bee went still as a china doll, eyes painted wide. It was the first time Gavin had spoken since they’d begun the questioning. Now, it pushed itself off the wall and advanced on the metal table, carrying a predator’s intent in its shoulders, sure in purpose, unpredictable in method.

“When we raided the place, you were the first one to hit the floor. Y’know, your other friends went down fighting. Not you, huh? You’re scared. You don’t wanna die. When shots started flying, you were probably thinking about little, uhh…?”

A snap of Gavin’s fingers and the name burst out of Bee as though conjured, “Aaron.”

“Aaron. Aww. How precious.” Gavin perched casually on the edge of the desk just beside where the cuffs were secured, leaning elbows on thighs. Its voice softened, just shy of outright mocking. “You’re a homemaker, Bee. You should be flippin’ pancakes, not lyin’ to cops. You’re not cut out for martyrdom.”

“I’m ready to die for my people.”

“You don’t have a people, honey, you just swapped your registered owner for an android.”

“I’m not the coward,” Bee fixed Gavin with a defiant stare, but her LED was cycling a rapid yellow, _“you’re_ the fucking coward!”

“Shit, you speak to your motherboard with that mouth?” Gavin stared right back, trailing its thumb thoughtfully over its bottom lip. There was a tension in the room, just waiting for the circuit to complete. “I’m the coward, huh? Well. Let’s find out.”

The GV’s arm lashed out in half the breadth of a blink. It had the perp in a headlock, throat trapped in the crook of its elbow, pulled tight against its chest. The fingers of its free hand were searching for something behind the perp’s ear, something that gave way, some kind of module Gavin ripped out and tossed aside. Its fingers shoved into the port left behind. Bee screamed. A wholly human imitation. Connor was on his feet in an instant, chair thrown back to the floor behind him.

Hank only observed, an interested tilt to its head.

“What are you doing!?” Connor shouted through the intercom, bent over the console, “Gavin! Leave her alone—”

“Don’t.” Richard shoved his brother’s hand off the key, eyes fixed on the two deviants. “I need the lead.”

Connor looked at him in shock.

Bee jerked against the cuffs. They weren’t going anywhere. It didn’t matter how much it thrashed, no household unit was going to throw off a combat model. The hair and the pretty face had melted away; its chassis split along the jaw, trying to ease the pressure Gavin was applying but only allowing him further access. Richard could see lights flashing, blue and warning-red, the cabling and synthetic muscle inside. Bee’s voice went tinny, garbled as it shrieked.

“Everything up in here is just so delicate. Keep wiggling around like that and I might just _accidentally_ scrape something I shouldn’t—” Gavin sneered, a sharp snapping sound under its fingers. The AP seized in his grip. A fresh flood of Thirium spilled over a white sleeve. “Whoops! That sounded important. How you doin’ down there, Bee, still feeling brave?”

“St—op—don’—” Bee’s voice came out broken, head and body jerking, inhuman. “Don’t want—shut off!”

“Where’s the drop point, Bee?”

Strange that androids would possess such intense self-preservation instincts, enough to make them reel away from potential harm. Something in their programming, perhaps, protecting CyberLife and consumer investment by keeping itself intact.

But then what use were the tears?

“Fuck,” Connor shoved away from the console.

“Dammit, _leave it!”_ he watched his brother rush out the door, heedless. Richard cursed, biting his thumb as he looked back out at the deviant. He didn’t bother running after him. He didn’t want to miss anything if it broke. When it broke.

When the door slid open, Hank was on its feet, intercepting Connor even as he surged towards the table. “Gavin, I said get the fuck off her!”

“Sergeant, he’s right, she knows something!”

“He’s hurting her!” Connor ripped his arm out of Hank’s grip and grabbed the android by the wrists, wild eyes, a knot of nervous energy, words bursting out of him like static shock, “Hank—do something!”

The HK stiffened. Its LED flashed red before cycling back down to a rapid, restless yellow, jaw set tight, brows knit together. As though it was trying to read a language it didn’t understand.

_“Hank!”_

Hank didn’t end up having to choose. Bee shrieked from under Gavin’s hold, “It’s here! It’s here, just take it!”

The room fell silent. Two humans and two androids watched Bee stretch out a shaking, glossy hand and then, in its palm appeared a picture of a young boy. Smiling bright as the daylight, grass stains on his pants, sitting in the dandelions. With a flash of a yellow LED, Gavin sent it to the display in the observation room. March 14th was the date on the image, printed in tiny white numbers in the bottom-right corner.

“Atta girl,” the GV said, then it pushed its fingers deeper and Bee jerked, the life going out of it, the color going out of the ring at its temple.

“What did you do!?” Connor paled, aghast, “Gavin—did you shut her down!?”

“What, you’re mad?” The deviant pulled its hand out of Bee’s head, drenched in thirium up to its elbow, “Sarge, your next step would’ve been to ship her back to CyberLife, I’m fuckin’ doing her a favor!”

“The next time I tell you to stand the fuck down, you’ll fucking do it!”

“If Gavin hadn’t done it,” Hank said, softly, “I would have.”

“No. Hank.” The sergeant whirled on his android, fingers grasping at those CyberLife-issue lapels and demanding its attention. “Not without my _explicit order_ will you pull a stunt like that, do you understand me? I’m not listening to that shit again…!"

Richard watched the HK stand, impassive, immune to the human trying to shake his will into it. Its expression seemed almost hesitant. Roiling depths under a calm surface. Its big hands moved, unhurried, and took Connor’s arms. Rubbing up and down them in soothing motions. Tender, almost. “It was my fault. I dismissed the image as irrelevant, I should’ve considered it had been altered.”

Altered?

Richard frowned, peering at the picture of the smiling boy.

“Jesus,” Connor pushed a hand through his hair, eyes shining wet, shaking like a leaf in a strong wind. He turned abruptly on his heel and started off towards the door. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sergeant!” The agent stood, speaking firmly through the intercom, “Where are you going? I need you on top of this lead, you need to follow up here.”

“No, Richard, fuck you,” his brother turned back towards the mirror, speaking to what must be just a dark surface, spitting venom at his own reflection in the glass. “You took this out of my hands, you handle it. I’ve got other cases to work.”

And then he was gone. Richard lost sight of him once he turned past the doorway. He stared at the place where he’d been for a long moment, expressionless, and found himself for once incapable of arguing. It was better this way, if he was honest with himself. He could better rely upon his own talents to get the job done. The HK800 followed after its owner like a well-heeled hound and left him alone with Gavin and the scrap metal that used to be a housekeeper.

“I would’ve expected a deviant to have more sympathy for deviants.”

“Nah,” Gavin stepped up to the glass divider, eyes finding Richard easily through the dark, “just a pile of wires, right?”

“…Right.” It was easier talking with the GV with this barrier between them, so much less impulse to slap the sarcasm out of it from here. His tongue found the cut on his lip and toyed with it. Bringing back the sting. “You might’ve put that unit out of commission too soon. This image, it’s supposed to be the drop point? It could be a local park, but there’s almost nothing to go on.”

“Damn, human eyes are trash, huh? Here, I’ll help you out a little.”

Gavin’s LED blipped yellow and the image tripled in size on the display, then again, nearly filling the window. Richard blinked, squinting at the assault of bright colors in the dim room. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking at, the details were the same, only gigantic. He could’ve laid his entire hand inside one of the child’s smiling brown eyes. And then—

His eyes adjusted, catching on something within the image. Something like faded patches, colors that didn’t match. Geometric, but seemingly random in arrangement. He imagined it excised from the surrounding visual noise, imagined it in sharper contrast.

“A QR code.”

“Hey, you’re pretty smart. They should make you a, uh, federal agent or something.”

“Incredible.”

“The code?”

Richard fixed his gaze onto Gavin through the projection, “The fact that every word out of your mouth makes me want to snap your plastic neck.”

Gavin offered him only a crooked smile and a half-assed shrug for the comment. The oversized image swept off the screen and in its place was the QR code, then a browser window brought them to the information they needed. An intersection downtown, a time, a date.

“It’s today. It’s today, evening rush hour. We almost fucking missed it.”

“Yeah, so you’re welcome. And let’s get a move on.” The deviant started towards the door but stopped short when it saw Richard wasn’t following. “Hey, honcho. This is what you wanted, right? Thought you’d be chompin’ at the bit for this.”

There were extenuating circumstances here, things they hadn’t considered. The lines of text stared him full in the face as he puzzled around them, projected outward several hours, evaluated scenarios. Richard rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, finally answering, “I’m not convinced they’ll show. They have to know by now that we’ve raided their lab. Their operation’s compromised.”

“Yeah, could be. But the report, whatever ended up on the news, it has the names of the humans involved, right?”

Richard peered at him, trying to see where this question was meant to lead, “Yes.”

“And what about the androids?”

Well, it certainly wouldn’t say deviants had been cooking uppers for distribution. Isolated cases of “malfunctioning” androids were bad enough without the implication that they could be programmed or organized into their own gangs. “I’m not sure. ‘Property seized’, I suppose.”

“Bee’s been running offline since before the raid, she likely would’ve connected to a public network only long enough to load up those instructions you’re looking at. Or any of them. They might think at least one got away. They might be looking to see if the drop is a no-show, confirm their suspicions.”

“They’d have to be desperate.”

Gavin looked at the mess he’d made of Bee, nodding pointedly towards the broken hardware showing through the gape of her split jaw.

“You think they aren’t?”

 

******

 

The view over the dash in his rental car wasn’t much.

A brown suitcase that fit the specifications of the QR code instructions had been chosen, loaded with nothing of value, and tucked away behind a bench. He could see it from where they were parked in an alley, though traffic was dense enough that losing sight of it between sedans was causing him a moderate level of nervousness. Could also be the caffeine. He was running on fumes since hitting up the raid last night—and then sitting seething outside Fowler’s office to jump the man.

And he didn’t even know if the deviant’s accomplices would show.

There was nothing to keep him company but the burn of fatigue behind his eyes, so he considered his new partner. The GV200 had been decommissioned before it even hit the sales floor, though the report had neglected to include the reason why. It was six years old, beyond obsolete, but Richard supposed there was an economic sense in that—equipped enough to get the job done, outdated enough to be taken down by its better. In that regard, the killphrase was merely a comfort to a human user. Its real handler was the HK800.

A handler he’d just separated it from. Richard realized he hadn’t quite thought this through. If push came to shove with this android, more than it already had, he might be better off shooting it dead than trying to spit out eight syllables of nonsense.

He cast a glance at it, sitting in the passenger seat beside him. Slouched down, knees open, a masterful imitation of human posture. Its complete lack of sophistication wasn’t limited to its programming, no, it was reflected in its entire personality and every inch of its bearing. All the grace of a blunt instrument. It shared several features with the HK model, however inferior, but one Richard noted in particular was its “adaptive protocol”. What input had it received, he wondered, what data had it collected in its time awake that had extrapolated into _this_ abrasive, irreverent display?

He looked for its LED and found it hidden, jacket hood pulled up, shrouding its face. So that’s what it was for. Could an android even be self-conscious?

“Connor.”

Richard’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What?”

“Your stress level skyrockets just hearing his name. What’s you two’s deal, anyway?”

“Shut your mouth. It’s not up for discussion.”

“You don’t wanna talk, then quit eyeballin’ me.”

They locked eyes for a split moment, each side challenging the other, then both resigned their attention out the windshield instead. Silence returned between them, but the damage was already done. Connor was on his mind. One thing his brother had that Richard did not was an amenable partner, that much was bitterly certain. The way they’d interacted last night in the field, in the interrogation room this morning… a touch on the arm, a whispered word, each defensive of the other. An unsettling pattern of behavior.

“What is the relationship between the sergeant and the HK model?”

“Didn’t you just say to shut my mouth?”

 _God help me, I’m not going to make it through this without smashing it._ Richard’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “I expect an answer.”

“Yeah, well, I dunno. I’m not exactly keeping tabs on it, okay?” Gavin turned to look at him again, eyes moving over the agent’s face in that sort of knowing way that Richard was swiftly coming to despise. “So, what, are you asking if they’re fucking?”

“Their interactions are more intimate than I would expect from the situation.”

Muttered words: “Jesus, who talks like you?”

He shouldn’t have asked, it was irrelevant to the case. Maybe the fatigue was setting in. Out the window, their drop point remained untouched and Richard quietly debated getting another coffee into his system.

“You’re reading too much into it.” Richard cast the deviant a sidelong glance, just enough to show he was listening, and Gavin continued, “the way he treats him, touches him, he knows what end result he wants and he’s just using the best tool to get it. Need him to calm down, run backpat.exe, put on some smooth jazz, whatever—it isn’t difficult.”

“It’s manipulative, then.”

“I’ve got bad news for you, sweetheart, that’s life.”

Richard’s voice was about as warm as a glacier, “what would you know about living?”

“Ouch,” Gavin’s lips quirked into a smirk; he could see it watching him out of his periphery, scanning and evaluating. The sudden shift of its weight towards the center console snapped Richard’s full attention to the android, tension gripping him in anticipation of a fight. He kept perfectly still as it snaked an arm around his headrest. “It’s this selfish kind of _craving_ you humans have, for someone to know what you want without ever having to ask for it. Without having to give something up in return. Androids are designed to facilitate that, right?”

Its other arm braced itself against the bottom curve of the steering wheel, caging him in towards the driver’s side door. “So I know all about playing real sweet to get what I want. I could be whatever they wanted me to be. But a guy like you? I bet anything I tried to get out of you, you’d do the opposite,” Gavin leaned in close, too close, close enough that he could just barely smell the chemical tang of thirium on his false skin from their traded blows that morning, “just to prove you could.”

In spite of his best impression of granite, Richard could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It was the same game it had played with him in the interrogation room, the android was trying to provoke a response, he wouldn’t give it the fucking satisfaction, which meant—

It was right.

_Son of a bitch._

His gaze bored into Gavin’s, jaw clenched tight enough to crack his teeth. He looked for a way out, some third path between these two points of concession.

“What’s wrong, Rick? Not as complicated a guy as you thought, huh?”

“How did they do it?”

The light played across the glossy white stripe of its scar when it grinned, “Make me so goddamn charming?”

“How did they force you to deviate?”

Its LED flipped like a switch, red glow diffused pink against cotton blend. Couldn’t hide it, not this close. Gavin wasn’t grinning anymore. Aesthetic breathing processes halted. Its face looked so still, so blank, it could almost be factory-fresh. Good. Richard needed it to understand that it wasn’t the only one who could push boundaries. He needed it to know Richard was still in control. “Physical trauma? Emotional shock? I wonder what it took to make you break.” He leaned closer, tilted his head just enough to murmur against its ear, “androids aren’t so complicated either, are they?”

Gavin leaned back to look at him. The LED in its temple processed half a cycle of yellow before blinking back to cool blue, a smirk breaking across its mouth, tempering some of Richard’s little victory.

“Hey,” it took its hand off the steering wheel and clapped the agent on the shoulder, voice lowered to a husky whisper, “your briefcase is gone.”

Richard whipped around to stare out the windshield; the drop-off was empty.

_“Shit!”_

 The door of the sedan flew wide open and he was out into the street before he even really considered what he was doing, who he was going to look for. Left, right. Into a building. He didn’t know, he hadn’t seen it move. Horns blared at him as he cut across the street, pacing in a tight circle around where the case had been. Scanning the walk to both sides, looking for something. Anything.

 _Give me anything_.  

In the flow of people on the walk, bundled up, heads down against the wind, there was one face he kept seeing, one woman constantly looking back, looking around, anxious. Auburn hair, dark eyes. He moved after her on sheer instinct, closing the distance with long strides. When he got closer, he saw it: clutched in one hand was his case.

She looked back.

And she looked back.

She caught his eyes.

She bolted.

The people she shoved on the walk raised their voices in alarm, and then Richard barreled past them moments later, oxfords pounding against the concrete—almost sliding. He wasn’t particularly dressed for a foot chase, but his blood was ringing in his ears and his gaze was fixed on the woman just ahead. Christ, she was fast. In the moments between breaths of sharp winter air, he envied her fucking sneakers.

And then she jumped into traffic.

Drivers laid on the horns and brakes squealed. This woman jumped up onto the hood of a sedan and ran, surefooted onto its roof, using it to leap to the roof of a parked van and drop down somewhere behind it.

By the time he got across, she was gone.

He cursed, punching the roof of the parked car beside him. He leaned on it, some of the tension leaving him. Gasping for air to settle his racing heart.

One thought struck him:

Where the _fuck_ was his android?

******

 

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Gavin was sitting on the hood of the car by the time Richard returned, applauding his efforts like valedictorian of the graduating class. “Really impressive, agent, top form. Or at least, what I could see of it from here.”

“Where the fuck were you!? I saw her face, you could’ve identified her if you had been there!”

“Hey, you said this morning, follow your instructions to the letter. And since you didn’t _say_ anything, well,” Gavin tilted its head and flashed him a smile, “I didn’t wanna be presumptuous.”

His case. A day’s work wasted on _his_ case. Hatred, humiliation, they boiled in him like black tar. His hands fisted in the deviant’s jacket, hauled it off the car so fast that its hood fell back from its head, “I’ve tolerated your shit all fucking day, but if you ever cost me another lead like this again, I swear to god, I’ll run you through a fucking compactor!”

“Oh, just do it already! I wish you would.” Gavin leaned into his grip, challenge in its eyes, “go on, I fuckin’ dare you. You ain’t gonna do shit, you wanna know why?”

The growl in Richard’s voice surprised even him, “Enlighten me.”

“Because if you off me, then you get to go back to the DPD emptyhanded and tell everyone how you couldn’t hack it a whole six hours on Connor’s case with Connor’s android.”

Alarm broke across the agent’s face as though he’d been slapped with it. _Connor’s case. Connor’s android._ His brother had had the GV200 for three weeks with no incident, had sent it in to clean up a raid without so much as a leash. He couldn’t even get it to say “yes, sir”.

“Yeah, you get it now, don’t you? You can’t stand being second banana, Richard, no, not a tough guy like you. You come in here, sweep up the highest profile case the sarge has ever worked. You see he’s got a shiny new toy, you figure you ought to have one, too, is that it?”

“Shut up.”

“He joined the police academy, but that was too low a bar for you, wasn’t it, you had to go for the eff-bee-fuckin’-I—"

“I said _shut up.”_

“Quit throwing me around every two goddamn minutes and admit you fucked up!”

“You’re right.”

It was barely a murmur. A quiet fell between them. The deviant stared at him, scanning him, as though it knew something about those words coming out of the agent’s mouth wasn’t right and it couldn’t quite get a read on why.

“You were right. I made a mistake.” Richard returned his gaze, eyes calm and serene as a frozen lake, and any good Michigan boy knew that if you put your weight in just the right place—it would swallow you whole. “I should’ve taken the HK.”

Red.

Gavin’s hand flashed into the agent’s coat, tore his sidearm out of his shoulder holster, and it was too fast, too abrupt an escalation, for Richard to react. The muzzle was at his chest. His heart leapt into his throat. He hardly had time to step back, get out even half a syllable’s protest. Through all of this nightmarish day, every altercation, every vicious word, he had never seen the deviant _this_ furious.

“I’m taking you off my case _,_ you stuck-up piece of—”

Its gaze fixed on something distant beyond the agent. Richard watched the fire in its eyes turn to ash in real-time, expression gone slack with shock, and then it just… froze. Every joint and plastic muscle locked into place, nothing left in motion but the frantic spin of its LED on yellow, yellow, yellow.

His breath shuddered out of him, a shaky descent off the near-death adrenaline; he glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing but the alley wall. Bizarre. Richard stood wary, guarded. “What is this, are you speechless for once?”

Silence.

The longer he stood there without answers, the more he felt the weight of its words. Of its threats. Was it punishing him? Was it broken? He’d have to call Fowler, have to call the _director_ , tell them he’d fucked up their best chance at neutralizing the deviants within mere hours of taking over the job. He’d have to look Connor in the eye and explain how he’d failed. Dread swept across his chest and down his arms, ten thousand tiny pinpricks of sudden cold.

He’d rather have been shot.

He needed it back.

_“Gavin!”_

******

Gavin stood with arm outstretched, clutching nothing, as a lush garden swept the dim alleyway aside—sudden sunlight, a shock of green. Overriding every sensor. It almost _stung._ A figure at the trellis, swaddled in seafoam satin, tended her roses with the unending patience of a god.

“Oh,” he whispered, “fuck.”

 

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blinked and it had been 4 [EDIT: 5 actually!!] months, I'm SO SORRY LMAO. I don't think the next chapter will take so long, I promise.
> 
> Can't express to you all enough how wonderful the comments & bookmark tags have been. Whenever I was having a bad day or feeling overwhelmed at work, I'd read through them and instantly my mood would skyrocket. Thank you so much. It's my goal to go through and answer everyone I've missed soon.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @DyingNoyses <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this dumb thing I did, once I get started on the "what-if" train there's really no stopping me until I get it all out. Come shitpost DBH with me on Twitter! @DyingNoyses


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